Once again Mr. B proved to be my hero and after far too long, he figured out the riddle of the broken oven. So, one day while I was out, he took the stove apart and finally, fixed it. It was just the sort of romantic gesture that made me swoon in delight and reciprocate the love with a plate of fried chicken.
Most people know about Mr. B’s deep fondness for fried chicken, but few know that I have more than a passing fancy with the dish myself. Truth is, I love fried chicken almost as much as I love Mr. B.